CHAPTER VIII


Selingman had the air of a man who returns after a long absence to some
familiar spot where he expects to find friends and where his welcome is
assured. Mrs. Paston Benedek slipped from her place upon the cushioned
fender and held out both her hands.

"Ah, it is really you!" she exclaimed. "Welcome, dear friend! For days I
have wondered what it was in this place which one missed all the time.
Now I know."

Selingman took the little outstretched hands and raised them to his lips.

"Dear lady," he assured her, "you repay me in one moment for all the
weariness of my exile."

She turned towards her companion.

"Captain Baring," she begged, "please ring the bell. Mr. Selingman and I
always drink a toast together the moment he first arrives to pay us one
of his too rare visits. Thank you! You know Captain Baring, don't you,
Mr. Selingman? This is another friend of mine whom I think that you have
not met--Mr. Francis Norgate, Mr. Selingman. Mr. Norgate has just arrived
from Berlin, too."

For a single moment the newcomer seemed to lose his Cheeryble-like
expression. The glance which he flashed upon Norgate contained other
elements besides those of polite pleasure. He was himself again,
however, almost instantly. He grasped his new acquaintance by the hand.